


Sherlock Ficlets (Experimental, my dear Watson)

by addicted2hugh



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - The Empty Hearse, Canon Divergence - The Sign of Three, Character Death, Drug Addiction, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I Tried, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Okay two of them are First Person Sherlock POV because I love being in his head, Other, POV Third Person, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-04 01:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14582229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addicted2hugh/pseuds/addicted2hugh
Summary: I'm currently experimenting with different styles and POVs, so here are some ficlets of various lengths and ratings.WARNING: There's some angst in here and also some Major Character Death. Needed to get it out of my system. But there's also fluff and even some Parentlock.I hope you'll enjoy!ETA:I've updated the date for this, because I still haven't learned to remember that drafts do not update their date automatically :/. Sorry if this popped up in your notifications etc. twice!





	Sherlock Ficlets (Experimental, my dear Watson)

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments on (and kudos for) my other fics make my day, so thank you SO much for taking the time to leave them there! I always appreciate feedback, so keep it coming, please! <3

**Untitled**

“You use body lotion?” John holds up the purple plastic jar he’s found in Sherlock’s bedside table and reads out the label. “ _Nourishing body butter with aloe, rosehip and vitamin E._ Wow! Body _butter!_ If Jim from IT could see you now!” He turns around, grinning broadly, to find Sherlock glowering at him from underneath a fringe of freshly washed, tousled curls. “Yes. Thanks for pointing it out. Why the hell are you rummaging around in my drawer?” John sets the jar down and holds up his hands in mock surrender. “ _Sorry_. I was only checking if we still have condoms. Since _you_ never go to the shops…” He shrugs, still amused by his find. Sherlock flings his towel to the floor, clearly annoyed, and briskly walks over to where John is sitting on the edge of the mattress on his, Sherlock’s, side of the bed. John licks his lips as he lets his eyes roam over the long, lean, completely naked body of the man he’s been sharing this bedroom with for three weeks. He’s a beautiful sight, and even the brooding look in his eyes can’t take anything away from that. He sighs. “Don’t sulk,” he says. “I was just making fun of you. Groom yourself all you want.” Sherlock picks up the jar with an aggressive motion and snorts. “It’s supposed to help with the _scarring_ ,” he snaps. John freezes, and their eyes meet for a moment. Sherlock is still glaring at him, but behind that, John can see something else lurking in those impossible cerulean irises. He’s hurt him, he realises, and his heart breaks at the thought. “Sherlock,” he says lowly and gets up. “I’m sorry. Come here.” Sherlock complies, hesitantly, as John pulls him towards the bed and makes him position himself face-down on top of the covers. “As much as I love imagining you bending into awkward positions while naked… I’d much rather help you reach those difficult places,” John whispers and trails his hand from Sherlock’s neck down his spine until he reaches the cleft of his buttocks. “Give me that.” Sherlock huffs, reluctantly lets go of the jar to let John take it, and buries his nose in the pillow. His whole posture screams _defiance_ , but John notices that there are goose bumps covering his back and arms now. Sherlock's voice sounds muffled when he asks: “ _Do_ we still have condoms?”    

  

\---------

 

**Your Loss Would Break My Heart**

“So… how did not getting _involved_ work for you, brother mine?” Opening my heavy lids takes an immense effort, and the insane way shapes and colours merge to make up a distorted image of my living-room makes my head swim. Am I on the couch? I look up to where the soft voice is coming from, and there he is. My dearest brother. His cold, reptilian smile falters as he looks into my eyes, and I wonder what he’s seeing there. He leans down to grab my upper arms, and with a small grunt he hauls me into a sitting position. I groan, but comply. He’s not going to go away, and I’m _so_ tired… “Where’s your list?” he asks and sits down next to me. “You look repulsing. How much did you take?” I laugh at the ceiling, my head lolling to the side. From the pocket of my dressing gown, I produce a crumpled piece of paper and hand it to him. He takes a brief look at it and then puts it away somewhere – I can’t watch, because his brisk movements make me dizzy. “Should’ve come to th’wedding, brother--- mine…” I slur. “ _Such_ a… _beautiful_ wedding…” He clears his throat. “God _damn_ it, Sherlock,” he says, very pointedly. Then he puts his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. _What…?_ “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It must hurt a lot.” I want to push him away, but I can’t. Because his hands feel so warm and calming on my back. And because it _does_ hurt. A lot. So I allow myself to settle against him and close my eyes. He smells of laundry detergent and cigarettes and cold night air. “Sleep it off now,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ll stay until Mrs Hudson comes back.”

 

\---------

 

**All the Time in the World**

“I find it difficult, this sort of stuff,” John says, his heart pounding a staccato rhythm against his ribs.

He’s going to die in less than a minute. _Fuck._

Sherlock looks at him, his almond eyes larger than he’s ever seen them before. “I know,” he replies. His deep voice, usually so suave and sober, is shaking.

John exhales loudly, trying to calm himself, but failing miserably. “I--- Sherlock---“

Oh God! He _can’t_ say it. He can’t.

He doesn’t understand it. They used to have all the time in the world – what has become of those days? Where have they gone? What happened in the years Sherlock was away – what happened to _them_? It’s too late now.

Sherlock’s looking up at him, his face pale, and John knows that there’s only one thing left to do before they both cease to exist. He doesn’t believe in the afterlife, not really, but just in case - he doesn’t want to go there with regrets.

With a few quick steps, John closes the distance between them, which is not only created by the space that holds the bomb that’s going to end their lives, but also by two years filled with grief and heartache, and pulls the other man up and against his body. Sherlock gasps in surprise, but John doesn’t hesitate – there’s no time.

“I missed you so much,” he pants and presses his lips against Sherlock’s.

Sherlock grips his jacket and twists the fabric in his hands, and his mouth opens to let John in. They kiss deeply, and somehow it feels like a fight. There are teeth involved, and both men are emitting growls that sound panicked, aggressive, _desperate_. It’s messy and wet and not at all perfect, and it’s the best and most sincere kiss John has ever shared with anyone.

“I’m sorry I failed you,” Sherlock breathes against him, and now there are tears mingling with the sweat on their cheeks. “John, I’m _so_ sorry…”

John slides his hands into Sherlock’s beautiful, beautiful hair and laughs, but it sounds like a sob. “ _Sherlock_ …” His mouth tastes so sweet, so warm. “ _Fuck_ , I love y---”

Before he can finish his sentence, a shockwave of white light hits them, accompanied by an enormous bang.

John’s world ends right then, and it’s a shame.

After two years of waiting, all he needed was time for _one_ more word.

 

\---------

 

**Freudian Slip**

“Look, it’s _raining_. You can’t wear the yellow shoes. Put on your wellies, okay?” I plead. We’re late for our dentist’s appointment, but Rosie is in one of her moods, and I know I’ll have to bargain if I want her to comply. “We can go for an ice-cream afterwards. Only the two of us. Deal?”

She’s glaring at me out of blazing blue eyes, her face red with anger. “I want. My. Yellow. Shoes!”

She has her daddy’s temper.

John is typing away in the background, and because I’m case-free at the moment, it’s my turn to tame the little wildcat, convince her to let a scary person in a white coat look into her mouth to check for cavities (Sounds like _so_ much fun!) and then pick up some milk on the way back home.

Sweet domestic _bliss_.

I want a murder, stat.

“I don’t _want_ my wellies! I want my _yellow_ shoes!”

Make that a _double_ murder. Or a triple…?

John sighs exasperatedly. That’s delightful – and so _subtle!_ There will be two irritated Watsons to deal with in a minute.

“ _Rosie_ , listen to your father,” he mutters in an undertone, his eyes fixed on the screen of his laptop.

Rosie doesn’t stop whining, but I zone out for a while, staring at John’s profile, completely stunned. He types a few more words, but then comes to an abrupt halt, and I can see it happen in his head. He turns towards me in slow motion and then gets up from his chair. My heart is stumbling over various confused and confusing feelings fighting for the upper hand inside my chest, and I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t make a single sound.

“I want my yellow shoes!!!” Rosie repeats shrilly.

John walks towards me and gestures for her to go ahead. “Yeah, yeah… For God’s sake, wear the yellow shoes.”

Then he’s in front of me, and his hands come up to cradle my face.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers, so quietly that I have to strain my ears to hear him. “Is this okay?”

There’s a small laugh hiding between his words, but also awe and a bit of fear.

I nod, dumbfounded. He smiles, and it lights up the whole room. Rosie is singing to herself now, putting on her yellow shoes. John kisses me on the lips, his fingers carding through my hair the way I love it.

“Oh _God_ ,” he sighs against my mouth as we part again. “The things I’d do to you if we were alone now… You should have seen your face – so beautiful, so---”

“Daddy! Sherlock says we’ll go for an _ice-cream_ later!”

Oblivious to the monumental moment she has just witnessed, Rosie gets up from the floor, holding on to my leg to keep her balance. John lets go of me and chuckles. I shake my head to clear it and grin down at the girl who’s just turned from devil to angel in the time it takes you to say “yellow” or “ice-cream”.

“We’ll have to talk about what a “deal” actually is, Watson,” I say drily. “Come on, we’re late.” I pick her up. “Hold on tight – we’ll have to run. And your feet will stay dry this way.”

John kisses his daughter, then gives me a small peck on my cheek.

“Have fun! And hey... get her really, _really_ tired,” he jokes and winks at me. In his eyes, there’s a promise for tonight, when it’ll be only the two of us.

Thinking about it - domestic bliss is not so bad after all.

 


End file.
